Little emotions
by Efcia
Summary: Arthur is loyal, almost beyond reason. At least he always was, until the day he betrayed his friends and joined International Forces Against Dreams in fight against illegal Dream-sharing. Will Eames uncover causes of such behavior?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For my friend Paulina, who wanted to read something with Eames:D**

**I hope that this time I won't end with something angsty and hopelessly romantic. It's supposed to be filled with action (my very first attempt in writing fights) and manly men, who aren't perfect and could be really bastards:P Anyway, here goes the first chapter.**

The scent of vanilla is a little bit too sweet for Eames taste, he prefers fragrances more spicy, more sharp and less.. female? Maybe.

But it's a woman he's kissing fiercely, will all the roundness of feminine body, with soft skin, full lips, blonde waves of hair and sharp nails.

Red ones. Oh, so cliché.

She'll mark him with them this night, leaving clear but shallows traces on his skin, Eames is sure of that. He's had many of them after all, made by sharp nails of women, whose names are utterly forgotten.

It's strange by the way, Eames vaguely wonders, Why they always have such long nails? Is that a way of marking men they were fucking with?

Eames's thoughts become more incoherent, as the blonde finally uses her perfectly shaped mouth to suck him. She's clearly a greenhorn in that matter, but her enthusiasm wins over the lack of experience and Eames gasps with pleasure, when suddenly his BlackBerry vibrates announcing that there's a text delivered.

It tears Eames from the mist of lust and pleasure, switching him to "full-alert" mode within seconds; of course it can nothing, but it also can be everything, as the job that was finished no more than four hours ago wasn't an easy one. The woman seems to sense the change in his attitude as she sits down on her heels, looking at him with curiosity mixed with expectations. She rolls her eyes, when his grabs his phone to read the message.

"Don't tell me it's your girlfriend looking for you.", she warns him playfully, but Eames doesn't pay any attention to her.

The message is from Arthur and it's really short, but says everything.

"RUN"

* * *

The chillness of the outside is pleasant after the stuffiness of small room crowded with five people and Arthur exhales deeply, filling his lung with the fresh air. He hears footsteps of the other members of the team, but doesn't turn around; there's no need for such behavior, the job is done and it's time to disperse, as not everything went smoothly.

Nor the extractor, neither the architect pays any attention to Arthur as he stands leaned on the street lamp, observing the neighborhood with his sharp eyes.

It's the point man job to check if everything seems to be fine, if there's no suspicious rush, if every single team member successed in exiting the place where the job too place… Speaking of, Eames managed, as always, to disappear somewhere. Arthur sighs inwardly, he's sure the forger is somewhere close, the presence of the annoying Englishman is almost perceptible.

The quiet sound of footsteps and friendly tap on his shoulder confirm Arthur's premonition; he turns to the forger in one smooth movement, the answer for unasked question on his lips.

"I won't go with you, Eames. Not after a disaster like that." Arthur gestures Eames to keep walking as there's no more any point in staying here.

"Disaster?", Eames's eyebrow arches so high that Arthur for a moment has a ridiculous feeling that it'll disappear beneath the line of hair. "I agree, it wasn't a perfect one, but disaster sounds a little bit too strong."

"If the subject waking up in the middle of the job isn't a disaster for you, I'd rather not know what is.", Arthur replies immediately. "I would say that you knew the extractor, but…"

"But you knew the architect and he was even worse that the extractor.", Eames continues smoothly after him and Arthur can't help but nods his head. "And it's not what I call a disaster, because it's what I call a total shit, darling."

"Right.", Arthur says slowly, the tiniest shade of smile on his lips. "Chances that they'll be looking for us aren't really big, but I suggest leaving the city nevertheless."

He doesn't have any illusions that Eames will actually listen to him; he never does, but it's a point man job to warn and Arthur never fails in fulfilling his duties.

Even when it seems to be pointless.

Another tap, this time in the back a quick nod of head and Eames disappears in the narrow by-street. He'll probably end with a beautiful and eager young woman. Not that it's a constant, but that's the way Eames is recovering from stress and Arthur doesn't feel any need to judge him.

Everybody in this business has own way of recovering.

Without slowing his pace Arthur massages the base of his nose; there's a dull pain hidden there, a clear sign of incoming sinusitis.

Once again, like many times before this year he wishes Cobb wouldn't be so stubborn with his retirement decision. If Cobb'd be the extractor Arthur could be heading to the hotel right now, instead of going to appointment with the employer.

Arthur frowns his forehead at the thought about the red-haired woman, with her narrow and sly eyes, hidden behind solid glasses frame.

The idea of working for her was really tempting, but Arthur decided to believe Eames's common sense and agree; now, though, he starts to regret it, as a particularly awful and piercing drizzle wets his head and makes the pain more sharp and unpleasant.

Arthur stops abruptly realizing that he almost overlooked the local he's supposed to meet their employer in. It's a small restaurant, nothing unusual, Arthur had many meetings with people, who hired him, in such locations.

There's no windows, though, just a solid, wooden door and bright red neon with the name of restaurant.

"Criminaliteit", it says and Arthur shakes his head in amusement; a place with a perfect name for such meeting.

He opens the door reluctantly, suddenly anxious, his inner voice telling him to act carefully, as always when he can't be sure what is waiting for him inside.

"Stay calm.", a harsh voice command as soon as Arthur slips inside, the cold touch of gun barrel on Arthur's neck accompanies it.

Arthur tenses against it, but remain calm, at least outside. Inside his mind thoughts are galloping in record-breaking tempo. He knows that this gun can mean nothing more than just a simple demonstration of force, there's that tendency among their employers, as if it could stop Dream criminalists from using their skills against theirs former employers. But subcutaneously Arthur knows it's not that kind of case, not this time. This time there's a pool of blood on the tiled with black and white titles floor. This time a woman scream can be heard, coming from behind the yellow painted wall. This time Arthur gets himself in bog full of shit, without Cobb on his side. It's a pure instinct, nothing else, which tells Arthur what to do in cold and short commands and he doesn't hesitate to listen them.

_Kick him in the knee._

The man groans in pain, when Arthur's perfectly polished shoe meets his kneecap and stumble a little.

_Hit in the temple, with elbow._

The sound of cracking eyebrow arch is awful and Arthur curses under his breath, when blood spoils the bright beige fabric of his jacket. The man goes limply and Arthur grabs him before he'll hit the floor; the sound of it could alarm the rest.

_Take his gun_, the inner voice orders and the point man listens him reluctantly. He still has his own, beloved Glock 17 in holster, but the more weapons, the better. The weight of Heckler and Koch USP in his hand is oddly familiar; but it's Eames gun of choice, so Arthur shouldn't really be surprised. He unlocks it, just in time, as another two guys appear in the corridor, clearly interested what takes their colleague so many time.

"Don't dare to move.", Arthur warns them in dangerously low tone, the gun he took just a couple of seconds ago from their friend aimed at them. They freeze, just for a moment, but that's enough for Arthur. He slams the door hard behind him, his eyes catch a car parked on the other side of the street, but it has no use for him.

_Why I've never let Eames teach me how to steal a car?, _he wonders briefly, hearing the crack of opened door and yells behind him. He hears a bullet that pierces the air just above his head and ducks instinctively, even though it doesn't make any sense.

_You won't hear the bullet that will kill you,_ snickers his inner voice and Arthur throws himself round the corner of the tenement house, buying a couple of precious seconds without bullets flying around him. It's stupid and doesn't make any sense, but Arthur can't help it; his hand is steady when he writes the message to Eames, a short one, but perfectly understandable.

"RUN.", it says.

Then there's no more time for anything like that.

* * *

_The sting of remorse are really unpleasant thing_, Eames decides quickly, _Nothing strange I avoided them for such a long time…_

However, this time Eames can't run from them, as he looks at silhouette of Arthur's body, leaned on the broken street lamp. He's barely visible in the darkness of the side street, but Eames can read the signs of anger, exhaustion and incoming illness with the same easiness Arthur makes his detailed plans.

The forger is the one that found that job offer and the hopeless extractor.

_Even though Arthur's architect also sucks_, Eames decides with a ridiculous hint of triumph, heading toward the point man, wishing he could bring him with himself and force to relax.

There were a couple of jobs in the past, when Eames managed to do so and got the wonderful picture of Arthur sitting comfortably, with glass in his hand, long fingers brushing lazily its brim, a shadow of smile dancing on his lips…

But it has never happened when there were still things to do, so there's no point in asking.

_We know each other way too well, _Eames decides when Arthur answers the unasked question.

They talk a little and the forger takes a chance to scrutinize Arthur, from the perfectly polished shoes, to the top of his head. The way he squints his eyes, an involuntary touch of fingers on the forehead are screaming about pain ambushing in sinuses and Eames has to force down the urge to advice Arthur visiting the throat specialist.

Instead of that he just pats him gently and heads toward the nearest bus stop, with a strong resolution of finding some fancy and sophisticated local, where will be plenty of fancy and sophisticated women, who won't have anything against Eames's inborn, British charm.

Luckily, in Amsterdam the night life is blossoming even in the early evening and the forger doesn't have any problems with finding a place in his taste.

There's even a woman in his taste, too, sitting and chatting lazily with bartender, her eyes checking every person entering the room.

She smiles to Eames, a clear incentive and he quickly decides to catch the chance.

Her hair are blonde, the dress she's wearing is a little bit too short and skin on her ring-finger is paler in one place. All of this tell Eames that she's a bored wife, who's looking for a risky fun.

And that's suits him perfectly.

A couple of colorful drinks with umbrellas, weak ones, as he doesn't want her to fall asleep as soon as they reach the bed, or to vomit all over the room.

A wink, a smile.

A gentle brush of fingers on the palm of her hand, a knee pressed to her knee.

The very British almost purr of his voice and she's all his, without hesitation and doubts.

The picture of tiredness in Arthur's dark eyes almost disappears from Eames's mind.

Almost.

He lets her strip him of his pants, her eyes very bleu and shining with excitement of upcoming in quick steps adventure and Eames decides that he likes it, it's a promise of night passionate enough to eradicate unwanted pictures from his brain.

Yet, somehow, he isn't surprised to receive a message from Arthur telling him to run.

Like he sensed by intuition that something has to go wrongly.

"Sorry, sweetheart.", he says honestly to bewildered blonde. "Plans have changed."

Her eyes widen in anger. "So it was your girlfriend.", she snaps fiercely and Eames chuckles.

"Rather boyfriend, if you insists on using such expressions.", he corrects. "You can stay the whole night, it's already paid.", he adds, pausing in the door frame.

"Fuck you.", he yells in answer, causing Eames to smirk.

"With pleasure, as soon as I find enough time to do so.", he promises and closes the door.

The eventful night life of Amsterdam is a blessing, there's no problem even with renting a car in the middle of the night and Eames soon leaves the city lights behind him.

He wishes Arthur managed to do the same thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated, especially because that kind of story is something entirely new for me. And big thanks for allerting!**

_One… Two… Three…_

The rotations of cellar-fan are slow, too slow to truly cool down the air in the room, but once again broken air conditioning Eames doesn't have any choice.

His skin is sticky with sweat, as he lays on the bed, covered with nothing but boxer, one hand pillowed under his head, fingers of the other one playing with poker chip.

It's the hottest month in Mombasa in the last three years, the temperature outside reaches about 40⁰ C in the shadow and Eames is unable to do anything.

Even though nobody has got the money for the last job in Amsterdam and both the extractor and the architect are calling him in that matter.

Even though Arthur isn't answering the phone, no matter what time Eames is calling.

It's just too fucking hot to think.

The ring of the phone hurts Eames's ears and he sighs inwardly.

It's not Arthur, he knows it, as he has a special phone ring, specifically and exclusively for Arthur.

_Non je ne regrette rien_, a song that Arthur's always, since Eames knows him, using as a countdown during jobs.

The forger isn't really sure how he managed to set that song as a ring tone, although he suspects it has everything to a particular drunken night, almost two years ago.

The memory of waking up inches from completely naked Arthur, being himself completely naked isn't something that can be easily forgotten.

The phone is still ringing and Eames eradicates the pleasant vision from his mind and finally takes his BlackBerry and finds out that is Ariadne calling.

"Ariadne, hello, it's nice to hear you!", he greets her cheerfully.

"Eames, do you have any international informational TV channel?", Ariadne asks in answer, her voice filled with some undefined emotion.

The beating of Eames's hurt suddenly increases to an alarming pace.

"Yes, but what…", he starts, slightly hesitantly, but Ariadne doesn't let him finish.

"Just turn it on and wait for a special announcement, right?", there's a tone of urgency Eames has never heard in her voice before and it forces him to obey the young architect without further protests.

The moment of awaiting for "special announcement" isn't a long one, but Eames feels how the tension in the nape makes it ach. He doesn't change the position, though, his eyes fixed on the TV.

_Tonight sensation!, _the speaker exclaims after commercial break, _From a couple of years now we've heard about the underground of Dream-sharing, which was, as everybody says "impossible to destroy". Now, though, this seems to change as one of the best man in this business decided to cooperate with USA police forces and help with revealing who is who in the criminal circle of Dreams._

The pictures from studio are replaced with the one made outside, Eames isn't sure where exactly, but it doesn't matter, not when recognizes the man on them.

It's not an easy task as they aren't in the best quality, the man has huge sunglasses, which covers half of his face and is limping on the right leg, but it can't prevent the forger.

Without the slightest hint of hesitation or doubts he knows it's Arthur on them.

That realization for a moment takes his breath away, shocks covers him in silence where only the uneven beating of his heart can be heard and Eames wonders briefly if it's how the betrayal feels.

His phone rings again and for a second Eames hopes is Arthur calling, with a reasonable explanation that will fix everything.

But, of course, it's not Arthur, it's once again Ariadne and Eames answers it immediately.

"Did you..", Ariadne starts, her voice hoarse, but he doesn't let her finish.

"Yes.", the answer is sharp; Ariadne exhales deeply.

"They show it about two hours now, again and over again and I always hope that it won't be him…", she pauses and Eames knows she finally gives up and starts crying, the sound of sobs clearly audible for him.

"Ariadne", he says, as gentle and smoothly as he can. "I'll figure it out, ok? Don't cry, my favourite architect.", he adds, knowing that that always made Ariadne smile and trying to sound reassuring.

The problem is ha has no fucking idea what he should do.

Thoughts are whirling in Eames' mind, as he sits on the plain, heading to Europe, the feeling of numbness as a constant companion for him since finding out about Arthur's betrayal.

He's flying to Paris, where Ariadne is waiting for him and Eames is sure that her huge eyes will be filled with hope and faith in him.

Which only makes it all worse.

He tried to get in touch with Cobb, but nobody answered the phone. Eames wouldn't expect himself to be concerned because of that, but there's a strange uneasiness in him, that makes it hard to concentrate.

Shifting his position to the more comfortable one he closes his eyes, hoping for a moment of respite from oppressive thoughts, but the picture of Arthur, Arthur in a light grey coat and huge sunglasses, Arthur walking without his usual grace, limping on the left leg cannot be eradicated from his mind.

Maybe it's better to think about Ariadne, the fragile but brave and intelligent architect, who Eames has seen three times since inception, twice because of job.

The reason why Ariadne called him seems to be a clear and reasonable one: who else could she call to?

Eames leans his head on the head rest and sighs inwardly.

Ariadne, _Ari_ as Arthur is calling her still isn't much experienced; there's not enough time to working, when ones is studying hard to graduate, but she's amazingly talented and in the future will be the best.

Unless Arthur's step won't destroy the world of Dream-sharing in the current shape.

Eames's fists clutch involuntary, nails digging deep into the skin, because it's impossible, it's fucking unbelievable that Arthur did such thing.

And it's not about people, no matter how painful it can be, Eames is able to think that Arthur doesn't care about anybody in this business.

It's about Dreams.

Arthur loves Dreaming, in that exact way that only illegal business allows to and he wouldn't resign from it.

That's the only thing about Arthur that Eames is sure of, the rest is cover in the mist of mystery.

"Excuse me?", a hesitant and gentle voice tears him out of the reverie. "I couldn't help, but notice", a woman sitting next to him continues a little more firmly, when Eames looks at her "that you're seems to be afraid of flying. Maybe I should call a flight attendant, she surely could give you something…."

Her voice falters again, because Eames stays silent, fervently wondering what this woman is talking about. And then he realizes: she took his nervous behavior from the symptom of fear against flying.

"I'll be fine.", he assures her with a shy smile, shifts his position and once again close his eyes.

But thoughts whirling in his mind doesn't let him relax.

Ariadne is waiting for him, a small figure in a red jacket and fanciful scarf that covers her neck, dark locks of hair make a beautiful contrast with it and Eames is sure if Arthur would be with him, he would stop for a moment to look at her.

But Arthur isn't walking beside him and Ariadne runs to him as soon as she spots him, her eyes red and swollen. She almost throws herself on Eames and he grabs her instinctively, embracing her tight.

When he lets her go, she wipes her cheek with palm of her hand, forces a small smile and gestures toward the exit.

"Shall we?", her voice is a little hoarse.

"Did anyone ask you about Arthur?", Eames asks when they drive toward Ariadne house- she forbids Eames to stay in the hotel- his eyes fixed on her.

"I got one call", Ariadne amidst after a short pause. "From the extractor we worked with in Munich. She wanted to what's going on, if it's Arthur."

She pauses again and Eames taps awkwardly her right hand, which is laying on the gear stick.

"I told her she's wrong, that's not him.", Ariadne finishes finally. Her huge eyes go for a moment to him, before she concentrates again on the road. "And you? Were you asked about…", her voice falters as if she's unable to speak Arthur's name aloud.

"Yes.", Eames answers shortly.

Initiate Ariadne in content of those calls wouldn't be wise, as most of them were filled with threatens and curses from a former coworkers.

Arthur is well-known in the business and so it's Eames. It's not a secret that they worked with each other more often than it's customary in their line of work.

They're silent for the rest of the way.

Ariadne's flat surprises Eames, it's small and simple, humble even. It looks as though there isn't any small fortune on her bank account.

_Guess, the ability to spend money comes with experience, _Eames smiles to himself.

Not that he's ever had problem with it, even on the beginning.

"I have a frozen ravioli!", Ariadne announces loudly from the kitchen, at least sounding not so terribly sad. "And lasagna, and umm… pizza? No, pizza is outdated.", she decides after a moment and Eames can't help but chuckle.

"Still feeding on frozen food?", he asks casually, standing in the kitchen' door frame. "You're not a poor student anymore."

"A matter of habit, I think.", Ariadne replies with shrug, when suddenly a loud scream coming from the corridor can be heard.

"What's going there?", the architect frowns and goes to the entrance door.

She doesn't get the chance to open it.

* * *

Lights of the city in the early winter evening are blurring to each other, making the view behind the car window unrealistic, strange.

Cars reflectors, lights from houses and flats, street lamps, neon, the various colors and intensity, mixed.

It's strangely mesmerizing and he finds himself unable to turn his eyes away, even though they're stinging without the cover of sunglasses.

"Wear it.", the sharp voice commands and in his eyeshot appears the sunglasses. "You can't become blind."

He obeys without word of objection; he doesn't want to go blind, too.

"I'm not sure about bringing him with us.", the other voice states, this one is hoarse and filled with disgust. "It's nobody important living there, we've checked it. No need for a spectacle."

"And there's where you are wrong. In this war we need to make a spectacle from everything.", the first voice replies coldly.

He leans his head on the rest of the sit and closes his eyes.

They're going to the place he pointed and he knows why they're going there and for who, but that doesn't seem to be really important or even real.

The dull pain in his knee gains more his attention than the destination place and he stretches his leg with sigh.

_Paris in night is wonderful._

* * *

The door almost shatters under the strong blows and Ariadne jumps away with scream. Eames observes the whole situation frozen in the middle of the kitchen with a packet of ravioli in his hand.

Ariadne's flat enter eight men in black uniforms, marked with letters "IFAD", semi-automatic guns in their hands, unlocked, Eames notices.

"On the floor, hands on the head!", yells one of the man and Ariadne gives Eames a completely terrified look. He obeys the order and Ariadne follows him, her shoulder trembling.

Another man, a tall and blond haired, without gun in his hand, enters the flat.

"Bonjour.", he says, looking around and the politeness of his voice makes Eames wants to laugh.

"Mademoiselle Ariadne Grey, AM I correct?", he asks the petite architect. She nods her head with hesitation.

"Sergeant Thomas Powell, IFAD. You're accused of being a part of organized criminal group, of committing the act extraction and inception."

Ariadne's eyes widen. "IFAD?", she asks weakly, clearly unable to make any sense of this situation.

"International Forces Against Dreams.", Powell explains with smug smile. "Put her in chains.", he adds and turns to Eames with a curious look in his face. "And you?", he asks. "A fiancé?"

"No.", it's not Eames who answers the question.

The forger's heart stops beating for a moment and Ariadne exhales sharply.

The man, who just entered her flat is Arthur. His eyes are covered with the same sunglasses they could see in the news and there's something in his posture that makes Eames, just for a tiniest second, want to suggest him sitting on the couch.

"He's not her fiancé.", Arthur continues, his voice firm but distant. "It's Eames, the forger I told you about."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: First of all: big thanks for my beta, lovinlife83. Second thing: thanks for all kind of replies I've got. Third thing: reviews, all we all know, make the Earth spin and the Sun rise, and, most importantly, are helpful for writer;)**

**Anyway, hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter!**

Every single interrogation room Eames has ever been in looked almost the same.

This one isn't an exception from this rule: a table, two chairs, a one-way mirror, walls painted in ugly shade of grey and, what's the worst, an interrogator.

They all resemble each other, the same dangerously narrowed eyes, the same expression on their faces, filled with disgust and the sensation of superiority.

Eames hates them all.

Powell enters the room in quick pace, a mug filled with fresh and aromatic coffee in his hand. Its smell makes Eames realize how much time has passed since he ate anything.

He gulps, which doesn't go without noticing.

"Nervous?" Powell asks, his voice filled with smugness. "I bet it's not your first time in such place," he adds, taking a seat.

Eames doesn't grace him with an answer, his grey eyes observing every movement of the other man.

"Are planning being stubborn?" Powell inquires. "Oh, well…"

He opens the manila folder he takes with himself and flips through pages, murmuring something.

"Here it is," he finally announces and starts reading. "Daniel Julian Eames, born in London, England, 25th January 1979."

Powell raises his eyes from the pages and takes a long look at the forger, who raises his eyebrows in a fake astonishment.

"No "Your father's name" question?" Eames inquiries. "I'm disappointed."

Powell shrugs and leans on the rest of the chair. "You don't know your father's name. No need for unnecessary questions."

"And how the necessary ones sound?" Eames replies, successfully masking the uneasiness he's feeling right now.

"Oh, you do know them, Mr. Eames." Powell answers without skipping a heartbeat. "It's all about your coworkers."

Eames frowns, his grey eyes expressing nothing but pure curiosity.

He was always a great actor.

Powell sighs. "Don't play a fool. Helping us will help you. And this beautiful young lady, named so romantically after a mythical character."

"Where is she?" Eames demands, unable to play the game any longer.

Powell chuckles at his sudden outburst. "Strange. I thought it's Arthur you care for, all things looked like that. And then we're finding you in Miss Grey's apartment…"

Eames is looking at him intently, feeling the anxiety rising in his chest.

_What the fuck is he talking about?_

Powell is smirking, his elbows propped on the table top and Eames wants to hit him, to wipe away this smug smile from his face.

It can be done, even with handcuffs.

But Eames, beneath anxiety and fear about Ariadne, is curious. He wants to know about what kind of "things" Powell is talking about.

Even though curiosity killed the cat.

He leans toward Powell, letting him to spot his expectation.

"Arthur suspects you don't remember." Powell says. "But you certainly do remember waking up beside him, being naked, don't you?"

Eames feels the pure hatred and fury grows in his chest, blinding him, taking away his common sense.

"So here's your weakness point," Powell chuckles and stands up. "Be reasonable, tell us a couple of names and you'll get your life back. Maybe you even get the chance to meet Arthur. And…" here Powell makes a short pause and leans toward the forger. "I'll tell what exactly happened between you and the precious ex-point man."

"Go fuck yourself," Eames spits and Powell raises his eyebrow.

"Is that everything? I expected a little more creativity, to be honest," he says and Eames stands up, no longer able to control himself.

"You're not worth anything else," he hisses, just before hitting Powell with his forehead. The crack of broken nose has never sounded better.

Of course two other guys intervene right away, punching him in stomach and seating him hard back on the chair, but all Eames sees is the bloody mess Powell's face became.

It's amazingly satisfying.

"Sir!" the moment of utter stillness is broken with the appearance of another man. "Sir, we have… a situation."

Powell finally breaks the eye contact with Eames and follows the trio. The two other guys also leave the room and Eames releases the breath he doesn't know he was holding.

* * *

_It's terrifying_, Ariadne decides after a couple of hours.

She's sitting alone in a tiny, but astonishingly comfortable cell, with its own, also very little bathroom. There's even a radio standing on the shelf.

Not that Ariadne really wants to use it.

The trembling faltered and now only her hands are shaking, but she still can't eradicate pictures of the arrest from her mind.

The shattered door of her flat.

Guns aimed at her.

Powell's disgusting smugness.

Arthur.

Ariadne curls tighter at this thought; during their first work together she learned to identify Arthur with safety, next jobs just proved her right. He was always exactly where he should be, making sure that everything would go according to the plan.

She trusted him with her life.

And he broke it with one action.

It's so hard to believe that even now some part of her mind doesn't want to agree with the terrible truth. Her first thought after seeing Arthur on TV was: _He has double!_ Just a second later she realized how ridiculous that idea was, but accepting the reality of Arthur's betrayal was still too hard for her.

She watched the special announcement four times, until she called Eames. Even after that she wished he'd call her laughing and teasing her that she made such a stupid mistake and confused Arthur with someone else completely.

Ariadne still feels her neighborhood's stares. Everybody observes her through windows, while two armed men shoved her into the car. She know she'll never come back to that flat again, at least not to live there.

But it's not what hurt her the most; just after Arthur entered her apartment she risked a short glance toward Eames and now she wishes she didn't.

The devastated expression on Eames's face was short-lived one; it lasted just a moment, maybe a second.

But if she could put her hand on Arthur right now….

She would hurt him.

As hard as she can, with all force of her fragile body. And then she would ask him why he did such a thing.

Maybe.

* * *

It's the old trick, they're using, Eames is sure about it. Funny thing how necessary the watch became after a couple of hours of sitting alone in the room without windows. How the ability to say what time is it seems to be one of the most important ones.

Eames would have laughed; he never was the one to live according to the schedule. He can spend the whole day almost without checking the time and be perfectly fine with it.

Right now it drives him mad, along with the idle sitting.

Eames is the man of action, always has been and right here he has nothing to do.

There's no way to escape he can see. Besides one.

Cooperate. Tell them a couple of names; no one in this business is a saint and the forger knows many people, who he'd like to see in the jail. There's Tommy, a fucking annoying architect, who was the reason Eames almost stayed in Australia forever.

Six feet under the ground.

And Elicia, the extractor. The long scar on along his spin is a memento of a job with her.

There are more names like that, from almost every possible country. Names that Eames learned to connect with danger and pain and avoided working with those people again.

So, yeah, it wouldn't be a huge problem to pick up a couple of names and share them with IFAD members. Most probably they'll let Ariadne go free, she's no use for them anyway; every time she worked in the business there was Arthur beside her, so she can't tell them anything new. She can't also play the role of scapegoat; she looks too innocent, arouses too warm emotions.

And there's chance that the rest of Powell's promises also will be fulfilled, even though it's hard to believe that completely.

The problem lays the other way; the people Eames is planning to sell out would do the same thing; they would choose other names.

And the result of that Eames can foresee very clearly: massive destruction of underworld of Dreaming. It's something that just can't happen.

For the very first time in his life the forger feels entirely hopeless and clueless.

"Fuck you, Arthur," he murmurs under his breath, too tired to do anything else.

He hopes he'll get the chance to kick the point man's ass before he goes to the jail, most probably for the rest of his life.

And then he'll force him to tell why he betrayed them.

Maybe.

* * *

Eames doesn't know it, but he's completely wrong; no one is trying to break him, at least not now and not using that particular method.

The situation, the young man reported about is much more serious than Eames could suspect.

The head office of "International Institute of Dreams" is in flames, an unknown arsonist set the fire. Luckily there're no casualties, but still the amount of damage is unimaginable.

Dominick Cobb doesn't even try to think about it, as he's sitting in his kitchen with mug of fresh coffee in his hand. Los Angeles is as peaceful, as a big and modern city can be, but every research worker from local Institute of Dreams was warned to stay at home, as no one knows what can happen.

"James!" Phillipa's authoritative tone of older sister comes from the garden. Cobb decided not to send his kids to the kindergarten today.

Somehow it sounded too dangerous; he's well known from working in Dreams industry.

He puts aside the mug and takes a short glance at huge framed photo of Mal; it was taken after their first shared Dream, he remembers that day clearly and Mal's eyes are shinning with realization of almost endless possibilities of Dreaming.

No one could expect that soon Dreams become almost a threat, as they'll give the possibility to steal things so far impossible to take away.

Things that are immaterial.

Yet, somehow, largest parts of societies weren't really concerned; a, let's say, nurse didn't see any reasons to care about Dreams, when the possibility that someone use them against her is so small.

Until that very day, when people heard about inception.

Cobb had to suppress his smile, when he first learned about experiments of planting and idea in someone's mind. He was sure, they'd finally find out how to achieve that.

He was right in that point. The problem was nobody predicted the panic that would grow among ordinary people.

It started innocently: some appeals, a bunch of websites against Dreams. Then first protests, demonstrations.

And yesterday, finally, an open act of aggression: the arson.

Cobb stifles the urge to start throwing things; after seeing Arthur in the news he was sure nothing worse could happen.

Soon, too soon, he found out how wrong he was.

He takes a quick glance at his old phone, which he left mostly to stay in touch with Arthur. Seems that both Ariadne and Eames gave up trying to contact with him, but it doesn't comfort him.

He's sure they think about him as a betrayer right now and, technically, they're right. He didn't answer the phone, scared that someone would find out about his connections with the underground of Dream sharing.

Now he wishes he wasn't such a coward.

* * *

Sleep doesn't want to come and Arthur finally gives up and stands up, leaving the crumpled and sweated bed sheets. He opens the window; the fresh and cold air of early morning makes it easier to breath and the darkness is just enough not to hurt his eyes.

He's exhausted and sore, his kneecap is so painful that is hard to stand, but that's all.

He just sold out people he considered as friends. And maybe something more than friend, in Eames case…

But that's all behind him.

He still has the ability to count emotions he should feel right now, but they are just empty words.

Nothing more.

And that's how it'll be the rest of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

_It seems that the arson of the head office of IIoD was Just the beginning of riots on street of Paris, _the reporter says loudly, trying to yelled over the noise the protesting crowd is doing. _People are demanding arrests of Dream criminals. Another popular slogan sounds: "Stop Dream experiments!". The police forces with help of firemen are trying to break up the demonstration, but it extends…_

Ariadne switches off the radio, feeling completely hopeless. All this information doesn't help, making her feel just worse. She curls once again and closes her eyes, exhaustion of sleepless night and stress eventually fights over the anxiety and she drifts away to a restless dream.

* * *

"You're not sleeping!", exclaims the red-haired psychologist, _Nathalie Pechalat, _Arthur recalls immediately, who entered his room without a even a knock. "Pack yourself, we're leaving.", she commands. "And hurry."

She pauses at the door frames, taking a long glance at Arthur, as if she wants to say something more, but Arthur isn't looking at her, already busy with packing.

He knows it will be her and a dark-haired, muscled Frenchmen, Fabian Bourzat, waiting for him just outside his room. It's a constant now, they're always somewhere close to him, ready to react.

Sometimes he wonders how it would be to feel something toward them, a hatred maybe. Anything at all, just a little emotions.

But it won't happen.

Arthur hisses, when a flash of pain goes through his leg, a joint screaming for better treatment.

"Lewis!", a sharp voice of Bourzat hurries him and Arthur leaves the room, a single suitcase in his hand.

They go down by a lift, to the underground parking lot, where a dark blue van is waiting for them. Arthur takes a place on the back of it without a word.

He shifts himself to the most comfortable position, which is possible with handcuffs and shot-through, still uncured knee-cap. Strangely, the smell of car sooths him and Arthur feels his falling asleep.

He doesn't try to fight it; the new destination doesn't make any difference anyway.

* * *

Eames is dreaming. It happens rarely without being hooked to the Pasiv, at least last times. What is more, is a lucid dream, which is even more rare thing for him, he'd never been able to stay lucid while in normal REM stage.

Every conscious part of him is begging him to kill himself and wake up, because he shouldn't have been dreaming about such things, not after what happened.

But Eames always preferred instinct to intelligence and it's telling him right now not to wake up, to stay under with Arthur.

Because is Arthur, Eames is dreaming about.

With all the glory of the best point man in business, sharp line of his body in a beige suit, the outline of his Glock 17 in the holster.

Only his eyes are soft, so soft Eames saw only a couple of times. It's like looking into two lakes of melted chocolate, a promise of delicious and forbidden feast and Eames lets himself sink in this gaze, just for a moment.

The projection of Arthur reaches a hand toward him and the forger takes it, the sensation of touching those slender, yet string fingers, making him shiver.

"Why did you do that?", words escape Eames's throat involuntary. "Why did you betray us?"

The look in Arthur's eyes are sad, but calm. "I wouldn't do that without a reason.", he answers and Eames holds his breath, because he's sure somehow he'll find out what the reason is.

And then he wakes up.

Not by willingly, of course. It's a cold touch of a gun barrel of his neck, what brings him back to the real world. His head is laying on the table top, one cheek pressed firmly to it and his whole body is protesting against such a strange position.

"Stand up.", a cold voice orders and Eames obeys slowly, his legs feeling numb.

They lead him white corridors to the lift and there's Ariadne, guarded by one man and she's so small, so petite, no light in her usually bright eyes.

She tries to smile to him and Eames realizes he must looks like a shit; he forces himself to answer with smile, to reassure her that everything will be fine.

Even though he's sure it won't.

There's a van waiting for them in underground parking lot, with four another armed men standing around it. One of them opens the slide doors, revealing the inside.

And the whole world seems to freeze.

At least Eames feels so, as inside the van, there's Arthur sitting, clearly asleep, his usually sliced-back hair falling in free curls, the huge sunglasses still covering half of his face.

Eames wants to check the reality, the picture in front of him just _fucking _impossible.

_Maybe he is dead, _a ridiculous thought passes in Eames's mind just to disappear a second later. It feels like eternity, Ariadne frozen beside him, Arthur breathing softly on the car seat and the forger vaguely wonders if they'll stay like that forever.

And that's when Ariadne reacts.

"You fucking bastard!", she yells and before anyone can stop her manages to climb into the car and hit Arthur hard in face. The sunglasses falls down and his right cheek starts to bleed, as the skin is cut with metal of handcuffs, and Eames can't stop but admire the fragile architect, who managed to make bleed the best point man in business. Thoughts soon disappear, though, when Arthur doesn't react, merely opens his eyes.

_It's __fucking unhealthy, _Eames thinks, staring and those eyes. _Too many shocks in limited amount of time can be the cause of heart attack.._

The clarity of Arthur's eyes isn't there; they are extremely redden, but it's not what shocks Eames the most. Both pupils are extremely narrowed, they're the size of a pin, but it's also not what scares the forger.

The most terrifying is the emptiness of Arthur's look, the complete emotionlesness of his gaze, like he isn't looking at people, who he's known for a long time and who he betrayed.

"Move!", a barked order tears Eames from the dark thoughts and the forger takes a seat, his eyes fixed on Arthur's.

_They must hurt like a hell, _Eames realizes, when Arthur first squints and then covers his eyes with the hand. Apparently Ariadne notices that too, because she suddenly leans closer to the point man and gently brushes his cheek.

"Arthur…", she says quietly, but hard a "Stop it." put together with an aimed gun silences her.

They are forced to take seats in front of Arthur, so Eames can't look at him, can't check if there'll be any kind of emotion on his handsome face.

"Just try to move", one of men warns him, when he wants to look back. The gun is pointed at Ariadne and even though Eames knows they can't and won't hurt them, Ariadne's terrified gaze it's enough to makes him still.

"I know what you are thinking right now.", hearing Arthur's voice is so surprising that Eames doesn't believe own ears for a moment.

"Quietude!", yells one of men and Eames hears Arthur taking a sharp inhale and become silence.

They drive them to the airport, where a small private plane is awaiting and Eames has to admit that the efficiency of movements of their captors is amazing. Nor him, neither Ariadne have a chance to take a further look on the outside, the plane, or, what's the most important, on Arthur.

"The flight will be long.", a red-haired woman tells them, as soon as they are placed in the plane. She looks carefully at Ariadne and something flickers in her brown eyes. "Try to rest.", she adds, her tone gentler and leans toward the petite architect, as she want to embrace her. Instead of that she brushes away the disheveled hairs and whispers something, so softly that Eames can't catch a single word.

And then they are left alone.

It could be stupid behavior, but they're in the plane right now, handcuffed and exhausted and Eames blesses silently the opportunity to speak with Ariadne without someone glaring at them suspiciously.

"What did she say.", he demands, watching puzzled Ariadne carefully.

"She said we shouldn't have blamed Arthur.", she answers quietly and raises her eyes to look at Eames. There's an unspoken question in them, mixed with hope and Eames feels his composure finally cracks.

"Damn it.", he says equally quietly, but it doesn't help calming his nerves. "For fanden! Porkadus!", he yells and hits the back of his seat.

"Stop it!", Ariadne reacts, her eyes wide and to her huge surprise Eames does stop, breathing unevenly and rapidly.

"Swearing in any language won't help.", she says firmly and the forger is once again astonished with the force of fragile architect. "Do you think they…", this time Ariadne stumbles at words, the unfinished sentence hovering in the air.

"I don't know.", he answers to the floor, unable to take even a short glance at Ariadne. He knows she would see hope in his eyes and he doesn't want her to notice that.

Because he can be wrong and maybe, maybe, Arthur betrayed them coldheartedly, maybe he has never cared of either of them.

But something is telling Eames that isn't true and this "something" isn't just his feeling toward Arthur, however they are.

The ability to read people through is the base of being a forger; Eames is the best one, so he's more than capable to read almost everybody. Arthur was always a tough case, especially at the beginning, but during the years of working together Eames learned to catch even the slightest signs of emotions, the little twitch of mouth, a soft change of pupils size, anything.

It always made him feel proud of himself, as even Mal wasn't able to see through Arthur's mask, not when he didn't want it.

But today…

There was nothing.

Absolute zero, both in his face and his voice, like he doesn't feel anything at all.

* * *

The phone ring startles Cobb, who is watching TV news, with anxiety listening dispatches about situation in Paris.

There are at least three casualties of riots by now and the situation is getting worse.

"Hello", he answers immediately.

"Mr. Cobb, how fast will you be able to come at work?", Meryl Davis, his boss, on the other side of the line asks in the way of greeting.

"It depends how fast I can find someone to take care of kids.", he answers carefully.

"Fine. We've got a couple of hours before we have a subject, so take your time.", Meryl says and finishes the conversation before Cobb can ask about anything.

It takes about three hours to find someone to take care of children and get to the Institute. As soon as Cobb enters his workplace he knows something is different than usual.

_It's gonna be interesting_, he thinks, when he enters the room, where Meryl is already wanting for him.

"Take a seat.", she almost commands, without looking up from some paperwork.

"Have you heard AE?, Meryl's sudden question takes Cobb aback and he's silent for a moment, thinking what he should say.

Of course he has heard about this substation, even though he shouldn't have, at least not from any legal source of information. Still lying seems strangely improper, so he decides to a careful:

"I've heard rumors."

Meryl finally stops flipping through pages and looks at him with a hint of interest. "I should have known no secret is really safe. So what exactly did rumors say?"

"That it can somehow turn off emotions, making from a person a perfect killer, without remorse, fearless and highly efficient.", Cobb speaks hesitantly. "And that creation of it was a complete accident, the chemist who created it wanted to make a new Dream compound."

"Is that everything?", Meryl asks.

"No. I've heard also it was created in our lab.", Cobb says carefully, observing every movement of his boss. She shifts her position, placing elbows on the top of her desk and sighs.

"The second part is true.", she admits slowly. "The first one though…", she pauses for a moment as if for a thought. "The truth is this it can eradicate all emotions a human being can feel, both the most basic one like fear and the most complicated, like love or hate. But it doesn't turn a person to a perfect killer."

The certainty in her voice makes Cobb realizes something. "It means someone took it.", he says quietly.

"Rather got it.", Meryl amends him in disgust and shakes her head. "Nevertheless, right now he's on plane, which is flying to Los Angeles. We'll get him to run a couple of test, we need to check how the inability to feel affects Dreams. Here're basic information about him."

She passes him files she was looking through a minute ago. They are open on the first page and Cobb's eyes immediately catches a photo.

It shows Arthur.

* * *

Reviews would be great, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Big thanks for my lovely beta, lovinlife83! And, of course, for all kind of feedbacks. Any chance of getting a review?;D**

Cobb's heart is beating so loudly that he almost doesn't hear Meryl through this sound. He forces himself to focus, to once again turn on all his abilities to stay calm, even when the world around him is collapsing.

Dark eyes of Arthur are looking accusingly at him from the next photo.

"He looks so innocently, doesn't he?", Meryl asks; Cobb shrugs in answer, hoping his acting abilities will be enough to deceive her.

"Well, he's the betrayer of Dream's underground we hear about in the news," she continues. "He's claimed to be the best living point man."

"And IFAD wants to give him to us?", Cob says skeptically.

Meryl smiles. "Not give. Just borrow, for science purposes. We want to check how his current state affects subconscious defense and, since the situation in Paris is becoming worse with every minute, he's being transported here."

"Fine.", Cobb says, flipping idly through the file pages, various information catching his eyes.

_31-years old._

_Siblings: 22-years old brother, 34-years old sister._

_Working most probably since 2001._

Cobb stifles the shiver, which comes with sudden realization; _Arthur can say everything about me and I'll be done, forever._

Still, he hasn't said anything yet, otherwise Cobb wouldn't sit here.

_But it doesn't mean he won't say. He or someone else._

"Why did you call me?", he decides to ask, sensing Meryl's intense gaze.

"A man like him is most probably well-trained against Dream infiltration. Moreover, we have no idea how the lack of emotion will affect his projections and you have proved your high skills many times."

Cobb winces, memories of Arthur's extremely well-trained projections forever burned in his mind. Their efficiency surpasses even Arthur's, Eames kept saying after one visit in the point man's mind.

"Am I suppose to do it alone?", he reassures himself.

Meryl sighs and leans back on her chair. "Not necessarily, but preferably yes."

The ex-extractor hesitates for a moment. The chance of being alone with Arthur is interesting one, it could provide him answers for many questions. Yet, motionlessness can make Arthur's projections even more deadly, so Cobb could use some help.

But from whom?

Most of his colleagues are relatively young, none of them really trustworthy, at least not in the sensitive matter of Dominick Cobb' past.

"Fine, I'll do it.", he agrees eventually and Meryl sends him bright look.

"Wonderful. In that case get ready, we'll have him only a short amount of time, you knows these guys from IFAD.." she grimaces and Cobb absently nods his head, his mind already busy with completely different issues.

_How am I suppose to free him?_

* * *

Ariadne finally drifted to unconsciousness about half an hour ago, her head leaned on Eames's shoulder. He, despite the exhaustion, can't fall asleep. His thoughts are whirling, his mind frantically looking for answers.

If someone would spot him in some smoky bar, over a glass filled with alcohol, idly observing people around, not really paying attention to anything particular, he could think that Eames isn't the type of person who wants answers. Instead, that he'd rather go through his life unconcerned by anything.

Well, that person couldn't be more wrong.

Eames does pay interest, he just limits it to chosen things. And people.

Arthur certainly belongs to those people Eames is concerned about.

He might be even on the top of this list, to be perfectly honest.

So, no, Eames can't fall asleep, even though his eyes are prickling with exhaustion, his mind won't let him. And he has an unpleasant suspicion it won't let him, until some answers will be provide.

Such as: _what does the redhead have in mind?_

The forger feels that her words are important, part of him wants to treat them as a proof of Arthur's innocence, along with his appearance. Another part, though, screams about the treason, about the fear in Ariadne's eyes and the coldness of gun barrel in the neck.

By now Eames is sure they're flying over the ocean, which gives him a lot of time to wonder.

Somehow he's sure that even an eternity wouldn't be enough to resolve all this puzzles.

* * *

It's a fun thing, fear. Cobb felt it many times in his life, he was scared to death when there were problems during Phillipa's birth, he almost freaked out when Arthur had been shot in the real world, blood flowing so fast, too fast.

Not mention the overwhelming feeling of fear, anger, regret and sadness, when Mal threatened him with jump, his heart beating so loudly and rapidly, his breath coming out with short gasps.

Yes, Dom Cobb knows various kinds of fear, but today's one is new even for him.

The knowledge he'll infiltrate Dreams of his friend, the person he trusted with own life so many times before it's sick itself. But the awareness that this man was violated beyond the comprehension and can give away all Cobb's secrets, ruining everything he built the last year, makes all of this much worse.

Cobb takes a sip of his coffee, looking at ready to use the Pasiv. He was the one to choose dosage of sedative and its strength, hoping it won't interfere with anything from Arthur's blood. He spoke with chemists, but in fact no one can predict how Arthur's organism will react on yet another chemical substance.

He created, or rather recreated the Dream of one of their jobs from the beginning of their friendship. It was a part of small town, slightly resembling the ones Cobb saw many times in west Europe, with distinct hint of peace and happiness.

The waiting is killing him slowly and he clutches his fists, trying to stop the trembling.

He could wait for the morning, Meryl didn't give him the order to start as soon as Arthur is "delivered", but the thought of loosing precious time makes Cobb alert and ready.

The report of Arthur's physical health is lying open on the desk and even though the length is long, Cobb feels like he could read the short and informative sentences once again.

They stick in his mind, every letter almost burned into it.

He reads it three times, every time hoping he'd understand it differently, but the truth stays the same, unchangeable.

The whole fucking substance they gave Arthur is highly addictive, every trial of stopping serving it to him ended with some extremely nasty withdrawal state.

_I don't want to see him, _Cobb realizes. _I don't want to see him damaged._

But he has to and when his waiting finally ends he can only clutch his fists.

Seeing Arthur is both better and worse that Cobb had supposed.

Mal kept saying that Arthur is like a cat; he has this catlike lazy grace in every single movement of his slender body. Cobb always shrugged , always answering that is something only a woman can spot.

But now, when it's gone, Cobb finally understand what Mal had meant.

For a stranger, Arthur would probably look almost perfectly healthy, except for the limping and swollen cheek. But Cobb knows all these things scream: "Nothing is fine!"

He takes a long, slightly shuddered breath and stands up. The only way of greeting he allows himself is a short nod of his head and Arthur replies with the same, his eyes still hidden behind dark glasses.

Cobb is so focused on the man he considers as a friend, that he almost doesn't notice three armed guys and a young ginger woman, who rushes in the room and smiles nervously.

"Take a seat, Arthur.", she commands softly and shots an apologizing glare at Cobb, who forces himself to smile.

"My name is Nathalie Pechalat; I'm a psychologist," she introduces herself and before Cobb has a chance to react properly, she gestures at the balcony. "Can we have a moment?"

As soon as the door are closed, Nathalie pulls out cigarette. "Do you mind?"

Cobb simply shakes his head, waiting to hear what the young psychologist wants to announce.

"Stupid addiction.", she sighs and exhales deeply, the cigarette smoke whirling in the night air. "I'm a therapist, and I'm supposed to take care of Arthur," she pauses, but Cobb's patience is finally over.

"Suppose?", he asks, leaning a little closer, to slightly invade her personal space, making her feel uncomfortable. She laughs mirthlessly.

"Emotions are the base of our work, no psychologist can work with a person who feels completely nothing! And he feels nothing," she eventually looks at Cobb, who frowns.

"As much as I appreciate your information, I've already learned it from the report."

She turns, looking at the sleeping city. "It shouldn't be like that," she says, very quietly. "I don't know what you think about it, but I finished my studies to help people, not to damage them."

Cobb sucks in some air, thinking fervently.

There's no way to say if she's trustworthy, but right now every alliance is priceless.

And worth the risk.

"Would you like to change the situation?" he asks carefully, observing her features.

"Yes," she answers simply and Cobb chooses to believe her.

"Now I need to go under…" he starts, but Nathalie interrupts him.

"There are two co-workers of his," she says quickly. "A forger and an architect, a man and young woman."

Cobb almost chokes on his own saliva.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ a part of his brain keeps repeating, while the other one works on the highest gear.

"Is it possible for you to convince them that I need both the forger and architect?" he asks hurriedly, seeing one of the man is heading toward the balcony.

Nathalie glances at him, completely surprised, but nods her head. "If you have proper arguments…" she says hesitantly.

It's surprisingly easy, almost suspiciously, but Cobb doesn't let his paranoia grow freely.

He doesn't even have to lie; it's true, that trained consciousness will attack later people well-known, but both Eames and Ariadne know how to deal with armed projections.

So he gets the permission, under one condition: the red-haired psychologist, Nathalie, will go under with them.

He agrees without slightest hesitation.

The whole operation is appointed for tomorrow, or rather this morning and Cobb finally comes back to home, feeling completely drained out.

He falls asleep while having the picture of Arthur in his mind.

* * *

Eames wakes up with muffled groan, feeling the effects of stress and a lack of sleep in whole his body. He takes three deep breaths, before he opens his eyes to the white ceiling of the cell.

The sound of the opened door forces him to switch into the alert mode.

"Wake up, you have a job to do," the man who entered Eames's cell commands. "Ten minutes for a shower."

Fifteen minutes later Eames joins Ariadne in a black SUV. There's also the red-haired woman sitting beside her. She glances quickly at the forger, as if wanting to check him.

She takes a deep breath. "Your task will be to enter Arthur's Dream," she announces. "You will help the professional from Institute."

Eames hears Ariadne's gasp, but doesn't pay any attention to it.

_It can't be real, _he thinks fervently, wishing he could check his totem. The woman seems to notice his disbelief, as she smiles reassuringly and continues speaking.

"As far as we know Arthur's subconscious is highly trained and you both have experience in that field. There wouldn't be any good if all people who entered Arthur's dream would be instantly killed."

"What exactly are we supposed to do?" Ariadne asks, her voice only slightly choked.

"Check how an inability to feel emotions changes Dreams," she answers simply and turns her head to the window, indicating the conversation is over.

The ride isn't long, but for Eames every second feels like eternity. No matter how long he thinks, he won't be able to predict how Arthur's subconscious will react.

He can kill them within seconds after entering the Dream, and frankly speaking it's the most probable scenario.

But he might, just might actually welcome them.

Somehow it frightens Eames much more than being torn apart by angry projections.

When Cobb is the one to welcome them Ariadne almost collapses on the floor, suddenly very pale. He catches her, shooting an angry look at the guard. Eames stays utterly calm, seeing only one person.

Arthur.

He's already asleep, his sunglasses removed, one cheek swollen with an angry red cut, but otherwise he's as calm and peaceful as always.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Ariadne says. Eames instinctively takes a seat beside Arthur and someone takes off his handcuffs so that he can be hooked to the Pasiv.

"I'm the dreamer," Cobb announces and the sedative rushes in their veins, the initial darkness of the Dream swallowing them.

When Eames opens his eyes the first thing he sees is the chocolate brown of eyes of a particular point man.


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: _Thanks for all kind of responces! Reviews would be really lovely, especially because that's where the hardest part begins (well, at least for me).**

_It's strangely silent around, or maybe it's just because Eames has all his senses focused completely and entirely on Arthur._

_Who seems to share this interest, his brown eyes fixed on Eames's face._

_"Arthur," Eames speaks, surprising himself with the tone of his voice._

_It's slightly hoarse and filled with definitely too many emotions for Eames' taste, none of them being anger or hate. He clears his throat hurriedly and repeats:_

_"Arthur."_

_This time it sounds more like it, and if you try hard enough, you'll hear even a hint of anger. But Eames still isn't satisfied, because Arthur betrayed them. It doesn't matter what they did to him, treason is still treason._

_A fury finally washes over him, the forger doesn't sure if it because of Arthur's act, or he's angry on himself, but he doesn't wonder about it._

_The punch is hard and Arthur's head springs back from its strength, blood slipping from the cut lips._

_"You fucking bastard," Eames says, very quietly. "Why did you do that?"_

_Arthur takes a deep breath and wipes away the blood from his mouth; the upper lip reddens immediately after that, but he doesn't pay attention, his gaze fixed on Eames._

_"They took away my emotions," Arthur says, almost inaudible, but his tone is so calm, so emotionless that something inside Eames screams._

_"So you decided to sell us out," he states, trying to regain his composure._

_"In fact I decided to give away Ariadne," Arthur amends calmly. "But generally speaking yes. It was logical."_

_Eames blinks, unable to believe own ears. "Logical?" he repeats in disbelief. "Logical…" his voice falters, when his real emotions finally break through._

_It's not anger what he feels, or hate._

_It's pain and regret._

_Because no matter what happened in the past, no matter if they saw each other every day or once a year, no matter if they fought or not, there was one thing Eames was always sure of._

_Arthur's honor._

_That sometimes terribly irritating, slightly out-of-date thing that Eames inwardly admired. Because of it there were things Arthur would not do._

_Betraying the youngest and most innocent colleague he had ever had was definitely that kind of thing._

_Was._

_He looks at the point man, calming down his breath._

_The chocolate brown of his eyes is empty, but the forger still has to stifle the urge to wipe away the blood dripping slowly from the split lip._

_"Eames," Arthur speaks and the perfect calmness of his voice makes Eames feel sick. He takes step back, finally looking around, letting the idyllic landscape clear his mind._

_"We need to find the rest," he murmurs and starts walking without checking if Arthur is following him._

* * *

_As soon as Ariadne opens her eyes she blesses the fact she's sitting. The dizziness, caused by the stress and exhaustion, makes the world blur in front of her._

_She quickly closes them, before it makes her sick and hears movements right beside her._

_"Ariadne?" Cobb's voice is soft and concerned and Ariadne curses inwardly._

_They are here for Arthur and she's wasting precious time._

_"Bend forward," a soft voice commands her; it's the red-haired psychologist Ariadne recalls. "It should stop the dizziness."_

_"I didn't know that bad disposition can spread into the Dream," she mumbles and obeys the advice._

_In the meantime Cobb takes a second look at the surroundings; neither Arthur nor Eames is close enough to be seen. In fact there's no one, not even a single projection._

_Nathalie follows Cobb's gaze and frowns._

_"You said it'd be filled with projections of his subconscious," she says hesitantly, causing Ariadne to raise her head and look around as well._

_"You think…" she stops suddenly. "Do you think it's reversible?" she finishes finally, very quietly, speaking the question Cobb is asking repeatedly himself from the moment he found out about everything._

_He wishes he knew the answer._

_Instead of answering he gently helps Ariadne stand up from the grass._

_"Looks we have to find them," he speaks, trying to sound unbothered and failing completely._

_Luckily, it doesn't take long to spot Arthur and Eames; they're walking quickly, the forger a couple of steps behind the point man, as if doesn't want to be seen by him._

_"There you are," he says briskly as soon as they reach them. Arthur acknowledges it with sharp nods of his head, his eyes focusing a little longer on Nathalie._

_Before anyone can react Ariadne takes a quick step closer to him, her eyes filled with contradict emotions._

_"You sold me," she says. "But…"_

_The petite architect seems to choke on own words, but Cobb does nothing; Arthur is standing right in front of her, he should be the one to touch her, give her a little solace._

_But Arthur does nothing._

_"It's not only about feeling," Cobb understands suddenly. "You can't read other people emotions as well."_

_"Oh fuck," Eames says, speaking for the first time Cobb's seen his in the Dream. "Oh, fuck."_

_Ariadne just looks with wide eyes, as if waiting for his response. He finally nods his head, very slowly and she sighs._

_"Stop it," Nathalie's voice is not longer soft. "It doesn't matter right now; we have other things to do."_

_It wakes up Arthur, who takes a quick glance at all of them. He seems almost normal right now and Eames looks at him, willing to catch this moment and turn it into eternity._

_"You want to rescue me," Arthur finally states. Any other day in the past there would be disbelief in his voice, later maybe mixed with anger, when information would sink._

_Now there's nothing._

_This nothingness is strange to Eames, it forces him to wish he could break through it and bring emotions back to their owner._

_It might be looking impossibly, but the forger always loved impossibilities; they give so much satisfaction when gained._

_"Of course," he snarls in answer and Arthur eventually loses his armor of calmness, a total lack of understanding in his dark eyes._

_"It's illogical," he protests, which causes an angry scold from Ariadne._

_"Selling me out was logical?" she asks, her eyes shining with mixed emotions._

_"Yes," Arthur answers simply. "Right now they need names and you're quite innocent. Giving them names would mean freedom. As for Eames- I couldn't know he'd be with you and his knowledge about people could buy him release too."_

_His voice is calm and something makes his explanations sound like he's speaking to children. Ariadne listens to him with clear disbelief, but it's Eames who interrupts him._

_"Stop being so fucking logical!" he demands, but Arthur only takes a quick glance at him._

_"It's hard to be anything else without emotions," he answers calmly._

_"We have a chance," Cobb suddenly says. "There are only three men in the room, plus the security of the building. Nothing we couldn't handle."_

_"We?" Eames focuses his attention on the retired extractor, raising his eyebrows. "Didn't it occur to you that you have children?"_

_"You'll take me as a hostage," Cobb answers immediately and Eames slowly nods his head, his brain obviously working on the same waves as Cobb's._

_"You'll have to wake up first and distract them somehow…" he says, but Ariadne stops listening._

_She's too tired for that, her mind filled with too many thoughts. They'll explain her everything anyway, so focuses rests of her attention on Arthur, who isn't taking part in the debate as well._

_He looks better than up above, that is certain. Gone is the limping and redden eyes, but there's still something off about him, something unnatural._

_Even the fact he's standing on the side, while others are making a plan, it's strange and Ariadne feels her stomach makes an unpleasant twist._

_Even imagining a life without emotions is beyond Ariadne's ability; she takes a reluctant step toward Arthur, unsure what she really want to do._

_Somehow her anger disappeared, leaving behind a sour taste in her mouth and deep regret in the heart._

_"Arthur?" she says softly, touching his arm. He turns to her, his eyes slightly narrowed, but she doesn't let him interrupt her. "I don't know what it means," she makes a vague gesture with her hand, indicating the whole Arthur's body. "But let us help you, in the name of the feelings you had. And don't tell me it doesn't make sense," she adds quickly, swallowing tears._

_For a few beats of heart Arthur stays motionless, his eyes fixed firmly on her face. Then he nods his head, a movement so slight that Ariadne barely catches it at all._

_But it's surely enough._

* * *

Finally it's Nathalie, who wakes up as the first one. She doesn't have to play a frighten one: being killed with a gun, even when it's a quick death, can't leave a person untouched.

"He's fucking psychopath!" she blurts as soon, as her frantic breath slows enough to let her speak at all. It's enough to gain everybody's attention, exactly as Cobb supposed.

Then everything goes quicker than Nathalie would ever predict.

It's both fascinating and terrifying how fast and smooth Eames and Arthur's movements are; despite all these factors and Ariadne doesn't stay behind them.

Soon there's a gun put to Cobb's head; it's Arthur who holds it, his hands steady, every step perfectly measured. It stops everybody else in the room and Ariadne gasps, realizing that they really can make it.

They can run away.

It won't be easy; before they went out of the Dream Nathalie warned them that there'd be a withdrawn state, which would make Arthur unable to prosper normally.

She told him that both people who got the same substance are already dead: one of them committed a suicide, the other one died of overdose.

No one knows if the effects will ever wear off.

"Give me the car keys and your phone. Slowly," Eames commands coldly, his gun aimed at Nathalie. One of the men gulps and throws keys, which Ariadne quickly grabs.

Getting out of the building isn't easy, but a firm argument in the shape of the hostage makes it lot easier and soon they reach the van.

"You're driving," Eames indicates with his head to Ariadne, who obeys, slightly surprised.

They are already sitting in the van and Ariadne starts with the screech of tires when the mystery is unraveled: Eames makes two phone calls, then opens it, crushes the phone card and throws it out of the car.

"We have a place to stay for a moment, until we find the way to get out from the country," he announces and adds, "Turn right here."

Two hours passes like that; Eames is giving Ariadne directions and Arthur is silently checking if there's a tail behind them. After that time Ariadne gets the chance to see if Eames' fame as the theft is actually a reasonable one.

It definitely is.

Within a couple of minutes they change the main of transport to a red Chevrolet; Eames takes the driver seat and Ariadne occupies the back seat, hoping to catch at least an hour of sleep.

They drive in silence.

"Can you drive?" Eames asks in the fifth hour of their journey, feeling that his exhaustion wins over the kick of adrenaline.

Arthur stays silent for a moment, as if considering the answer.

"I don't think so," he answers finally, his voice strangely muffled. Eames takes a short glance at him, but doesn't spot anything unusual.

"Then I need a coffee," he decides, taking a sharp turn into the petrol station.

It's risky, but so is driving further without an injection of caffeine. Eames doubts news spread with any enormous speed and he's right; no one pay any attention to him.

"Here, I'm sure you can use it," he hands a cappuccino to Arthur, who has the slightest moment of hesitation before taking it. He doesn't drink it though and Eames gets suspicious. He looks carefully at the silent point man and notices his hand's slight trembling.

"Is that normal?" he asks, gesturing vaguely, but Arthur doesn't have problems with catching his point.

"Not really," he admits slowly. "I didn't get the morning dose, they were afraid that it could interfere with the sedative," his voice falters, but Eames already knows what it means.

They'll soon have not only to guard themselves from the pursuit, but also to take care of addict in withdrawal state.

He wants to swear, but one look at Arthur makes the curse die on his lips.

It's no time for such things.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Every kind of feedback are lovely, but reviews are really special for me. Sorry, for this delay but I was away for a couple of days, without the Internet or even my laptop around. Anyway- (hopefully) enjoy!**

People tend to make a lot of noise in emergency situations, like it could somehow help instead of making everything even harder.

Luckily, this time isn't different and Natalie makes sure that the situation won't be normalized any time soon. As good as she is in helping people to calm down, she's also able to raise the panic.

She doesn't hesitate to make use of her abilities.

She can see a bewildered look on Bourzat's face, like he can't believe their prisoners are escaping, threatening to kill one of the most famous Dream specialists in this country.

"They got into the car!" one of the guys reports, looking out through the window. "And left Cobb! Come on!" he adds.

Natalie doesn't hesitate for even a second; they need more time.

The fake faint she does deserves an Oscar.

* * *

"Stop," Arthur half-pleads, half-demands in choked voice. Eames obeys without a pause, turning onto the roadside, for the fourth time in last fifteen minutes. Arthur barely manages to get out of the car, before the sickness wins him over.

Eames holds his breath for a moment, listening to this terrible choking sounds Arthur makes. He meets Ariadne's worried gaze in the back mirror. She's pale, as if she is fighting with own nausea.

"We can't drive further," she says firmly and Eames doesn't find the strength to protest.

He's perfectly aware that none of them is able to drive any longer without a proper brake. Luckily they are in Mexico right now, which makes things easier, but still doesn't give them perfect safety. The place of destination is Guatemala and Eames really hoped they would be able to get there without long pauses, even for the price of complete exhaustion.

One glance at Arthur, who tries to calm down his stomach by breathing deeply, crosses out this plans.

"It'll be worse, won't it?" Ariadne investigates, noticing who Eames is looking at. Her voice is soft and worried, full of sympathy, the anger completely gone. The forger wishes for a moment that they could be furious at Arthur; have a chance to show him how painful his betrayal was, no matter the circumstances.

It's bloody hard when Arthur is showing symptoms of withdrawal; it's not everything, Eames is sure of this, he saw many drug and alcohol addicts in his life and knows perfectly well what the lack of chemical substance can make from even the strongest man.

"Probably yes," he admits quietly, his mind working really hard to find a solution. "Get him to the car, Ari," he adds a moment later.

He hopes they'll get through the next 210 miles without any bigger problems.

The suburbs of Hermosillo welcome them with a fast darkening sky and lightning up street lamps. Ariadne takes a short glance to Arthur, who's occupying the whole backseat; even in the twilight of the evening she can see how bad he looks, his face pale and sweaty, breathing shallow and uneven. Now and then he shakes uncontrollably.

_At least he stopped vomiting, _Ariadne muses, although she's not sure if it's because of the fact that there's nothing left in his stomach. She doesn't really want to think about it.

With qualms she taps Eames's shoulder to wake him up. He's been asleep no more than ten minutes. The expression on his face is finally slightly relaxed, but Ariadne has no idea where they are going.

He wakes up with a jolt, grabbing her wrist strongly, for a moment unsure what's happening. Then a realization appears in his eyes, quickly replaced by anxiety.

He lets her go and looks at Arthur; Ariadne can see how he relaxes seeing that Arthur's state seems to be somewhat stable.

"Drive straight right now," he eventually orders, his voice hoarse. They drive ten minutes more until finally Eames says a quiet "Here."

Ariadne looks at small, semi-detached house, painted bright yellow, with flowers standing on window sills. The forger doesn't give her the chance to ask any questions though, getting out of the car as soon as she has parked.

The sound of door bell is exactly the same as three years ago, the same is also a reluctant answer.

"¿Quién está ahí"

"Eames," he answers firmly and for a moment there's silence on the other side of the door. Eventually it's opened slowly, revealing a middle-aged woman, one you could describe as pretty.

"So you're alive," she states unenthusiastically in accented English.

Eames shrugs. "As you can see."

The woman leans on the door frame, her dark eyes scanning the forger carefully. "You're here because...?"

"Because you're my debtor," Eames finishes. "And we don't want anybody to see the man from this car," he gestures at their bright red Chevrolet.

The woman freezes for a moment. "Drive into the garage, it's empty," she orders and disappears in the corridor.

It's not easy to wake up Arthur: he's inert and practically unresponsive, so Eames has no choice but to carry him to the closest room.

Arthur's suit is soaked with sweat, his skin is pale and wet, emitting an unpleasant smell. Eames finds it hard to believe that this man is the same person as the famous always-oh-so-amazing point man.

But he is and Eames can't help but brush his cheek in gentle caress. The Mexican woman shoves him out of her way unceremoniously and takes a careful look at Arthur.

"He's not shot or stabbed," she states, slightly surprised. "What's wrong?"

"Withdrawal," Eames answers shortly.

"What substance?" she inquires further, checking his pupil's reaction.

"We don't really know," Ariadne says hesitantly. "Nothing common and well known."

"Fine. Was he vomiting?"

"A lot," Ariadne almost whispers. The woman takes a short glance at her and leaves the room, to appear again a couple of minutes later, with the drip in her hand.

"And you're lucky I have such things in my home," she says drily, piercing the skin of Arthur's forearm with the needle. "And you can take a shower," she adds looking at Ariadne. "Clean towels are in the cabinet and a clean bathrobe is too. Later I'll give you something to wear."

Ariadne slowly nods her head and goes to indicated direction. As soon as she disappears, the woman turns rapidly to Eames.

"I know I have a debt, but this is more than I can stand. Who they are? A drug addict and a scared girl? Eames!"

The forger sighs and closes his eyes. "Maria, please don't shout, my head is killing me without your help."

Maria shakes her head in irritation, but when she speaks again her voice is quieter. "What kind of shit did you bring here, Eames?"

"IFAD, above all," he admits and Maria's eyes go wide.

"Me cago en la hostia," escapes her mouth in disbelief. "Are you crazy? What are you doing here, you should be at least in Guatemala!"

"I can't leave them."

It sounds firmer than Eames expected it would and somehow it makes him feel more confident. He looks at Maria, who shakes her head, the expression in her eyes unreadable for even Eames.

"I can't cure him," she says quietly, looking at Arthur, who is laying motionless, his breathing still alarmingly shallow. "And you can't stay here more than two, three days, I won't risk my freedom."

Her voice is dry and firm and maybe if things were different Eames would argue. But things aren't different and he's too fucking exhausted to fight with anybody.

"Get some sleep," Maria adds, sounding softer and the forger simply nods his head and goes upstairs, still remembering the house layout from three years ago.

Marias sighs and sits beside the bed Arthur is laying on; despite what her house may say about her, she has seen in her life many things, some of them would make most people sick. Still, seeing a young and handsome man like this, destroyed by some sort of chemical substation, makes her feel sad.

She touches his cheek, the gentlest brush of fingers. He's feverish and Maria silently thanks God he's unconscious, as she really can't help him in any proper way, not without knowing what kind of substation he's addicted to. He moves under her hand and his eyes snap open.

The beauty of his chocolate brown irises hurts Maria.

"Where..." he whispers, clearly confused. Something flitters in those beautiful eyes and Maria instinctively reaches to stroke his hair, which is surprisingly soft.

At first he flinches, but then slowly relaxes, his eyelids slowly fall down to finally cover eyes completely. Marias sighs quietly.

She knows it'll be a long night.

* * *

Ariadne is looking through the window, but she doesn't really see the garden behind it, the only thing that catches her attention is a sign of movement.

Eames left the house in the early morning to, as he said, "arrange some transport". It's been five hours now and Ariadne can't sit calmly any longer, her heart beating too loud and too uneven. A sudden touch of warm hand of her shoulder makes her jump a little.

"Stay for a moment with him," Maria says quietly, her dark eyes filled with silent understanding. "I don't know what he did, but things that have happened to him and are happening now… That's punishment enough."

Ariadne looks at her for a moment, the desire to tell her that her absence can't actually hurt Arthur in any way is almost too strong to stifle. Finally she just nods her head.

Arthur is laying curled on his side, his hair falling freely on his forehead and covering his eyes. It makes him look unbelievably young, even younger than Ariadne herself.

Somehow it feels unfair; the betrayer shouldn't have the ability to make her feel sympathy toward him.

She forces herself to take few quick and firm steps toward the bed, so that he could hear her.

"Arthur!" her voice is strong, thank God. He uncurls himself a little and takes a short glance at her. The emotionless of this gaze takes away all her strength and the stifled tears force their way down on her cheeks.

She sits heavily on the bed, beside him.

"Give me a hug," she asks quietly, choking on the sob.

He hesitantly puts his arm around her and she sinks into his touch, the intimacy of this gesture so different and yet so similar to those their shared on the second level of Fisher job.

After a moment his hand wanders to her hair, his long fingers stroke the curls of them and Ariadne sighs with her eyes closed.

"Eames went somewhere this morning," she speaks a moment later, her anxiety too big to disappear so soon. Movements of Arthur's hand are still, there's not even the slightest amount of hesitation in them. Ariadne's heart breaks a little more, her hopes that maybe, maybe, there's an improvement, are shattered.

If Arthur felt, he would notice that even through her own sorrow, he was always a little more emotional about Eames than anybody else.

They fall asleep together, limbs tangled together, not even an inch of empty space between their bodies. Ariadne wakes up two hours later, confused at first, unable to say where and with whom she is. When the realization comes she burrows her face deeper into the place where his neck connects with shoulder. He murmurs something incoherently and puts his arm around her.

"In any other situation I would be jealous," an amused voice tears her from the half-asleep state.

"Eames!" before she even thinks, she's embracing him tightly, a quiet confession, "I was afraid for you," escaping her throat almost without her permission.

"I think I found a transport to Guatemala," Eames announces when she finally lets him free. His grey eyes meet Arthur's brown ones.

"When are we leaving?" Arthur asks without hesitation.

"In the evening," Eames replies, which Arthur acknowledges with a quick nod of head.

"So we have plenty of time," he says, making Ariadne instantly curious.

"Plenty of time for what?" she demands.

"For an explanation of what happened."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This chapyer is dedicated to MetaphoricallyOfCourse and lynxzpanther. Your reviews are amazing!**

"You would be a great Extractor," Cobb says. He finally stops stirring his coffee and takes a short glance at Natalie, who tilts her head to the side, pure curiosity in her eyes.

"I take it as a compliment," she decides eventually and focuses again on Phillipa and James, who are playing happily in the garden, lucky that they can spend the whole day at home.

"Phillipa will be a beautiful girl; boys will be fighting for a chance to be with her," Natalie notices and, despite the anxiety Dom is feeling, he can't help but smile.

"Mal, her mother, was one of the most beautiful woman I've ever met," his eyes go straight to the photo of her, which is hanging on the wall, but the tone of his voice isn't bitter, only slightly distant.

Speaking about Mal used to give him kind of a bitter-sweet pleasure. It also distracted him from thinking about what is happening with the Trio, as he used to call Ariadne, Arthur and Eames in his mind.

Natalie looks pensive, when she absently touches the frame of photo.

"Did she know Arthur?" she asks quietly and instantly to Cobb's mind returns the image of his ex-Point Man, the emptiness of his dark eyes and stillness of his body.

"Yes." He clears his throat, not liking the sound of his voice. "She treated him as a younger brother. Actually she knew Arthur before I've got the chance of meeting him."

"I'm jealous," Natalie announces all of sudden and turns from the photo, to face Dom. "I don't know if the effect of this chemical will be constant or not, but either way he won't be the same as before and I wish I could have known him."

Cobb just looks at her carefully, waiting her to continue and sees how she smiles sadly.

"When I saw him for the first time he was scared," she says and Dom frowns at those words; it's so unlike Arthur that it's hard to believe. Natalie obviously senses his disbelief.

"It was after he got the first dosage," she explains with a calmness that makes Cobb feels sick. "Fear is the hardest to eradicate; it's what helps us survive in this dangerous world since the very beginning."

Natalie turns back to him, absently brushes a lock of hair. "As long as he could feel fear, he was adamant not to say anything. Then only the logic had stayed and he was no longer able to say "No"."

Cobb vaguely registers that his fists are clutched strong enough to hurt, but his focus is still completely on Natalie, who shrugs hopelessly.

"We always thought that emotions make us weak, that's because we love and hate and we're able to behave in the worst possible way. But when emotions are gone…" Cobb notices Natalie's shoulder are shaking and he instinctively comes closer to her and puts his arm around her.

Natalie half-sighs and half-sobs, leaning her head on Dom's chest.

"I was a part of the team of destruction," she whispers. "I don't want to do it anymore, I don't want him to be destroyed; I don't want to feel so guilty…"

Something becomes tight in Dom's chest; he knows everything about guilt and this beautiful red-haired woman shouldn't feel like that.

"If anyone can fix him, it's Eames," he says, very quietly into her ear.

To his own surprise he means every word of it.

* * *

"I didn't find it hard to believe, that time, that they were actually shooting to me," Arthur's voice is rough with tiredness and Eames has to stifle the urge of telling him to go sleep, instead of talking. It won't do any good; they need to know what happened, and besides Arthur always was extremely stubborn and most probably nothing can change it.

"I remember that I was surprised," he pauses for a moment, like he can taste the word 'surprised', closing his eyes just for the tiniest moment, "that they were trying to kill me on the street. I probably shouldn't have been, though, it's not that everyone I worked for was intelligent and caring. Still, it was a stupid thing to do; someone called the police and with police came a few members of IFAD, and I somehow got recognized. They shot at me too, of course not to kill, but to stop me."

Ariadne's eyes go straight to Arthur's leg, to his knee to be exact, and he confirms her suspicion by nodding his head.

"After that I couldn't really do anything, the pain was too strong. It made me weak, took away the control I had left. Then…" his voice trails and Eames suddenly knows why.

Then there were emotions.

Anger, that's for sure, maybe even fury. Arthur has never reacted well to being helpless. But, of course, there was also fear, no matter how hard Arthur would try Eames always could read through his calmness and see the tiniest signals of being afraid.

There were many other feelings as well, the forger doesn't doubt.

And now it doesn't make any sense to Arthur, all these moments filled with the fast beats of heart, sweat on hands and many other things, for which there's no explanation in his strictly logical mind.

"They wanted every possible name I could give them, but what they really needed, and need, are names of extractors. Extractors are the ones who can steal an idea and who can plant it. They are the greatest threat."

Eames takes a deep breath; the awareness of what Arthur did has stuck in his mind, and, despite the circumstances, somehow makes it painful to breathe.

Now, though, he can see clearly Arthur's reasons: in some twisted way he tried to save them by revealing their names.

The sudden wave of affection is unstoppable, not that Eames really wants to stop it; he always touched Arthur more casually and more often than anyone else, even Cobb, who's known Arthur much longer.

This time is different; Arthur neither flinches nor leans onto his touch, staying unresponsive, but relatively relaxed. Eames takes a long breath, searching for Arthur's usual smell, an indefinable mix of bitterness and sweetness.

It's gone, replaced with an odor of sickness, which makes Eames a little nauseated. He recoils under the careful gaze of Ariadne's eyes and brushes the back of his neck, suddenly feeling the awkwardness of whole situation. Arthur's eyes are slightly narrowed, but he doesn't say anything, just watches as Eames straightens and stands opposite the bed.

"So do we have transportation?" Ariadne finally demands, when nobody says anything.

"It's an ambulance, actually," Eames answers quickly, glad to have an excuse to stop looking at Arthur. Ariadne's eyes widen.

"How?" she asks in disbelief, but the forger just shrugs.

He has a lot of contacts, all around the world and there's no reason to reveal them.

"We're going to Guatemala, right?" Arthur asks, which gives Eames a little relief. He can bare this logical and strictly professional Arthur, it's much easier than the wreck of a human being he was yesterday.

Not that Arthur is okay right now.

His breath is still too shallow and rapid and during the seconds Eames hugged him he could literally feel how Arthur's heart tries to escape from his chest, its beating way too fast and fierce.

But today Arthur is doing his best to cover his weakness and that's much more like him, like the Arthur Eames has known for a long time. He has always appreciated his strength.

"All my contacts in Guatemala are probably burned down," Arthur says thoughtfully.

Eames raises his eyebrow. "Probably?" he asks. "Of course they are, you were the biggest news on every bloody TV channel at least for a week. No one will speak with you now, not to mention the omnipresent desire to kill you."

He knows it sounds harsh, but it's not that he can hurt Arthur's feeling, can he? And he doesn't want anyone to have illusions; leaving the States is the first step to salvation, but the rest of their journey won't be a piece of cake either.

"But you can keep us safe, can't you?" Ariadne asks and her eyes are filled with hope, which melts Eames's heart and forces the sudden bitterness to fly away.

"I will try," he promises, which surprises himself.

It's easy to drive through the city in an ambulance, flashing with lights; nobody will try to stop them, human's life is more precious than any highway code.

Somewhere along the way they will have to change the number plates, so that their ambulance won't look suspicious.

But for now it's just the feeling of freedom that fills Eames lungs and makes him drive even faster.

Both Arthur and Ariadne are on the back and maybe it's better that way. There are no eyes checking the speed, no questions which Ariadne would certainly ask.

Like where they will stay.

Or what will happen next.

Ariadne brushes her thumb along Arthur's forearm and rests it on his wrists, feeling the unsteady pulse of his heart. He doesn't really react to her touch, his eyes half-closed.

It's unusual in a wrong way; Arthur has always reacted at her touch somehow. Sometimes he shoved her away, in the gentlest possible way, so she couldn't really feel offended, other times he smiled and leaned into it, just a little. Rarely did he touch her by himself, like if the brushes of his long finger were reserved for someone else.

And maybe there were.

Not that it mattered now, when Eames is driving like a crazy man and Arthur doesn't have enough strength even to sit.

"Arthur?" she whispers. "What difference does it make?"

He shifts his position to face her more straightly. "We are wasting time," he answers shortly. Ariadne frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"Music, theater, movies, meeting with friends, walks… All of this doesn't make sense," Arthur replies.

"How doesn't it make sense?" she protests fiercely. "It brings joy, excitement, it's…", she stops, suddenly aware of one simple thing;

It really doesn't make any sense, not for Arthur, not now.

"We have to separate as soon as we reach Guatemala," Arthur says matter-of-factly, which causes Ariadne to jump out of her sad thoughts.

"It'd be safer," he adds, looking at her carefully.

"It sounds like you care," she answers, feeling cruel and heartless as soon as she finishes the sentence.

"Ariadne," he reaches to touch her hand, brushing the knuckles very softly. "I remember caring for you, for Eames. You were important to me and somehow you still are, at least because of those memories."

She smiles sadly and grabs his hand as strongly as she can. "Eames won't let you do that," she says quietly.

Arthur looks at her carefully; suddenly he seems to be much more awake. "Tell me," he almost demands. "Because I don't understand."

She shakes her head, bewildered and unsure. "What don't you understand?"

"Why he wants to take me away from all of this, why he wants me to be safe. I know, I remember that you love me," he shakes his head. Ariadne nods her head; the memory of the day when she told him she loved him like an older brother never had cleared from her mind.

"But he…" his voice trails off and at first Ariadne thinks it's because he doesn't know how to put his thoughts in words, but then she notices how desperate his breathing become.

"Arthur?" she asks anxiously. "Arthur!"

He takes few more rapid breaths, before he looks at her.

"I'm just dizzy," he says slowly, closing eyes.

He looks vulnerable like that, making Ariadne's heart almost bleed.

"Maybe you should try to sleep," she suggests, her voice full of false optimism and he nods head without opening eyes and curls into to more comfortable position.

She sighs, very quietly and shifts her position into a cozier one as well.

Outside the ambulance the wind is whistling gloomily.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm terribly sorry for this enormous delay, but I have so much things to do! Right now I have even more, as my summer exams are coming closer and closer with every day... Anyway, here goes next chapter. Hope you'll enjoy it!**

Ariadne must have fall asleep at some point, because now she opens her eyes to a complete darkness, feeling the warmth of Arthur's breath on her neck. They're tangled together, creating some kind of strange creature, Ariadne's one hand under Arthur, the other one laying on his chest.

Oh, yes.

She put it there to actually feel his breathing, afraid that she could have missed the moment when his shallow breaths would stop.

But he's breathing now, more steadily and evenly than before, so it's not what tore her out of the dream. She tries to look through the darkness, but it seems they have stopped in the middle of nowhere, where there's no street lamps at all. In this moment Ariadne shakes her head in exasperation.

Of course it is what has woke her up!

There's no roaring of engine, no sound of wind, only the muffled sound of human's voices, coming from some distance. Ariadne feels gentle hum of anxiety, but really Eames isn't likely to get caught somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Still Ariadne decides to stay in the ambulance, if Eames wanted them to go outside, he'd wake them up. Also Ariadne doesn't want to interrupt Arthur's peaceful sleep.

She doesn't have to wait long; the door of the ambulance are soon opened and Eames takes a quick look in the inside. Something unrecognizable flickers in his grey eyes, but he doesn't say a single word as Ariadne untangles her from Arthur, who is also conscious now.

"It's the border.", he states, but Eames nods his head anyway. Ariadne stands up so quickly that Arthur the forger flinches at this sudden movement.

"Really?", she asks, knowing that she sounds way too much like an excited teenage girl, who just spotted the actor she has crush on.

The fact they reached the border with Guatemala doesn't really mean anything; they still have to go through it, to feel a little more safe.

Still Ariadne just can't wipe away the huge smile that appeared on her face and for an unknown reason Eames answers with an honest grin.

"We have to change our vehicle.", Eames informs them, still smiling. "That's why we stopped here, luckily I have some friends living not far away."

Both Ariadne and Arthur acknowledge it with a short nod of a head. Asking about details wouldn't make any sense, beside it's unimportant.

"Here.", Eames gives Ariadne a passport, when she passes by him. "Learn all the facts.", he orders her, unnecessarily. She has been working long enough to know what to do with a fake documents.

"Arthur…", Eames says and for the first time there's a hesitation in his voice, as if he's not sure what to do or say. He stops in the middle of movement, one hand stretched out like he wanted to come and touch Arthur, but resigned.

Arthur stands up, quickly, his movements more smooth an Arthur-like than a couple of hours ago.

"You feel better.", Eames notices, with a wave of relief so sudden that it makes him feel week in knees. Arthur titles his head to the left before answering.

"Yes, I do.", he admits, matter-of-factly. "Ariadne will drive, you're worn out.", he adds a couple of seconds later and brushes past Eames, getting out of the ambulance.

Ariadne is standing beside their new car with eyes wide open. Nothing strange, their new vehicle is shockingly blue, the color visible even in the dim light of car's reflectors.

"Nobody will remember us.", Eames says, spotting her bewildered expression. Ariadne frowns.

"You rather meant "everybody will remember us"

"Not us. Just the car."

It's Arthur who answers her and Ariadne freezes for a second. She reacts like that always when Arthur sounds more like Arthur, the tiny flesh of hope in her huge eyes.

"Also", Arthur continues after a short pause, "we need to split as soon as we cross the border. Ariadne you'll drive the car."

Something stops both Eames and Ariadne from protesting. Maybe it's the fact Arthur looks like nothing in the entire world could change his mind.

But most likely it's something in him.

A sparkle of old-Arthur that goes beyond the healthier look.

They exchange quick looks before taking seats in the car.

On the border nothing really happens. Ariadne knows she should be pleased with that; they've gotten the stamps in passports and a look of amusement because of their car and nothing more.

Now they're driving through the silent at this time of night city, the only sound inside the car Eames's snoring. Ariadne finally decides to park the car and turns off the engine.

"We have to talk.", she mouths to Arthur who nods and gets out of the car as quietly as he can, Ariadne follows him.

"Do you feel?", she asks, or even demands as soon as they are outside. He stays silent for a moment, as if wondering.

"I don't feel.", he says finally.

"But?", Ariadne asks, trying to stifle the raising hope. She knows there is something, well, she is sure of that.

"But I don't feel so empty.", Arthur admits. "I don't have this feeling there's nothing inside me."

Ariadne closes the distance between them. Somehow all what happened makes Arthur feel more like an older brother to her.

"We won't leave you, you know that.", she says with all her force. He closes his eyes for a second and when he opens them again Ariadne is sure he knows and maybe understands.

"We can't be driving through the city all night long.", he says, looking on the car, where Eames is still asleep.

"Sure, wake up him.", Ariadne answers without hesitation.

Everything was too easy and beautiful to this point, Ariadne muses when they park their car outside a four-floor flat.

She hopes it won't change, that they'll go through all this mess with less possible damages.

When she turns off the engine Arthur takes a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror. Their eyes meet and he wishes he could make something to cheer her up, because seeing his favorite architect like that is upsetting.

Upsetting?

Oh my god…

He takes a sharp inhale, which causes both Ariadne and Eames to look at him.

"What's wrong?", Eames asks immediately, a worried frown on his face. Arthur's eyes are wide, when he struggles with opening the door.

As soon as he gets outside Eames is with him, his hands are supporting him, the look of grey eyes is searching. Arthur takes a long, slightly shuddered breath and forces himself to remain composed.

And then everything is gone, in one moment, leaving the too familiar emptiness and coldness. He leans on the car, feeling the warmth of Eames's breath on his cheek. Ariadne is asking about something, Arthur can hear her anxious voice, but words are blurring together.

"Arthur."

The sound of his name, said in this so characteristic, British way, breaks through the mist in his mind.

"Can you walk?", Eames asks, unsuccessfully trying to cover his fear with carefreeness.

"Yeah, sure.", Arthur finally finds words. "I'm just…", his voice falters, as he doesn't know what to say.

"Let's just go inside.", Eames decides, but his eyes are still fixed on Arthur. He clearly feels that the reason of whole situation doesn't lay in exhaustion or physical weakness. Still he remains silent, as they as quickly as possible go to the other side of the street, where a small house with a porch is placed.

„La noche viene", Eames says after knocking to the door. It opens quickly and a slim man almost drags him inside, Ariadne and Arthur follow them.

The man takes a short glance at Ariadne, frowning with surprise and turns to Arthur and freezes.

"That! That fucking…", he doesn't finish as he quickly goes toward Arthur, his hand raised as if to hit him. The forger stops him, grabbing him by the arm, strongly enough to make him whimper a little.

Arthur observes the whole scene without a single blink of the eye, likes it has nothing to do with him. It's Ariadne who takes his hand and almost drags from the hall, to the first room with an open door.

The man Eames is holding in strong grip releases himself with a clear disgust on his face.

"You're mad!", he accuses the forger. "You brought to my house a fucking traitor!"

"He was forced to cooperate!", words escape Eames's throat almost unconsciously and even though they don't make a real difference the man visibly calms down.

He leans closer to Eames, a strange expression in his eyes.

"I thought it'd never happen to you.", he almost whispers and, strangely enough, his Spanish accent is stronger now. "You always knew when to leave someone behind, Eames, you were the sensible one."

Eames observes him with a squinted eyes, deep down knowing too well what he's talking about.

He decides not to think about it.

Not now, when world is complicated enough without thinking about emotions and the lack of them.

"Did you hear anything?", he asks, focusing on the actual dangers.

"I've heard enough to know that he's not safe here, or anywhere he's ever worked.", the man answers and shakes his head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"I'll repay for this.", Eames promises and his acquaintance acknowledges it with a sharp nod of a head.

"I hope so.", he says quietly.

* * *

When Ariadne pulls Arthur to the room, she feels a strange sense of déjà vu. How many times there were situations when Arthur dragged her gently somewhere, into the safer place?

More than Ariadne can actually count.

But today, now, she is the one who pulls the limp hand and shoves Arthur in the room, closing the door behind them.

She understands the gravity of situation but whatever is happening with Arthur right now concerns her more. She pushes him gently onto the old couch and knees in front of him, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"I felt.", Arthur confess before she has a chance to ask a question. "It was just a second and now everything is as it was."

His voice is slightly choked, but Ariadne knows that not emotions affects him.

There are no emotions in his eyes, nothing Ariadne could spot and recognize.

Once again the cruelness of IFAD strikes her.

Why would anyone want to damage other human being in a such horrible way?

She sighs feeling again that everything is overwhelming, too much for a normal girl, even though this "normal" girl helped in performing inception before.

She's not even surprised when Eames roughly orders them to get up.

"We need to leave, now.", he says.

No one asks why.

Domick Cobb cant's sleep. It's not just a matter of friends being in great danger, although the biggest part of his anxiety is connected with Arthur, Ariadne and Eames being somewhere, in the darkness of the night, most probably in the car.

Still a small part of his feelings are caused by a woman who is in the guest room.

Cobb can't hear any sound coming from there, so he assumes she's asleep. Which wouldn't be surprising considering the time; it's almost 5 am now and the gloom winter wind is humming outside the house.

It is partially because of this wind that Nathalie agreed to stay in Cobb's house for the night.

She silently accepted the night gown that Mal didn't have time to wear, but before that they were sitting for a long time in the kitchen, with mugs filled with hot chocolate.

Somehow it felt right and filled Dom's chest with warm feeling, despite everything what already happened and what will happen next.

A sudden sound breaks the silence of the night and Cobb sits on the bed, listening carefully. Deep inside he hopes is Nathalie, that maybe she woke up and she's going to the kitchen for water to drink.

But soon Dom realizes it was only a crack of tree branch.

He sighs heavily and lays down again.

He needs to rest.


End file.
